


and the sun is so bright that i'm squinting

by LauraHollis



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: And Buffy Summers likes it, F/F, Faith Lehane kisses girls, I write most of this at work so it's like they PAY me to write femslash, Post-Chosen, Road Trip, Slow Burn, Turning a blind eye to the comics tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraHollis/pseuds/LauraHollis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Faith Lehane has survived a hell of a lot in her lifetime. Prison. Demons. Abuse. Betrayal. Community soap.<br/>None of that compares to Buffy Summers in a bikini.<br/>Scratch that. The way Buffy Summers looks at her, in her own bikini, with parted lips and stuttered breathing. That shit’s gonna cause her to fucking flatline.'</p>
<p>Road trips full of shitty motels, insane roadside attractions, and homoerotic undertones.<br/>Buffy Summers is learning how to be normal again, and Faith Lehane is just trying not to fall in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate-Riddled Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a three hundred word drabble and now i'm working on chapter four. fuck my life. currently this story is unbeta'd but i'm working on finding one!  
> first time writing fuffy, and they've Literally consumed my life. follow me on tumblr @bisexualbuffy for more wlw buffy summers goodness.  
> title from 'freedom' from the unauthorized autobiography of samantha brown. it's a kickin' musical and i suggest listening to it! kelly and sam remind me a bit of faith and buffy.
> 
> do people still do disclaimers? i don't own faith lehane but she sure as hell owns me.

It’s mentioned in passing, actually. Neither of them would’ve thought of it on their own. It’s after Buffy sleeps for days on end and Faith is trying her best to grapple with the fact that it’s over, it’s  _ over _ , at least for now. It’s not just on her shoulders. (Was it, ever? No. Not with Buffy Summers around.) The weight of the world feels somewhat lighter yet a thousand times worse now that Sunnydale’s gone. Buffy’s feeling it too, she knows. They’ve always had a weird sort of connection as the Chosen Two. Now they’re just two of thousands, aren’t they? Nothing special about her. (Buffy, on the other hand, will always be special. Always be the Slayer in charge. She’ll go down as a legend to the girls in future generations. Faith? She’ll be a footnote at best.) 

Surprisingly enough, it’s Xander that makes that suggestion. ‘Get away for a while,’ he says, while Buffy is downstairs for one of her few excursions to the kitchen of the condo they’ve been renting. ‘You’re not the only ones with the power to save the world, anymore. You can take a breather, you know?’

It’s a good idea, Faith admits to herself, but she’s nervous to look at the other girl’s reaction. Or, the probable lack thereof. Buffy hadn’t given much of a reaction to anything since the battle at the Hellmouth. She’d overheard conversations between Red and Xander how she was beginning to slip back into the state she was in shortly after she’d come back from Heaven. Now, Faith hadn’t been there for that, and by the sound of it, she’s glad. She can’t stand much more of the moping. 

So she sneaks a glance at Buffy, whose eyes have widened slightly. “I think… I’ll think about it.”

It’s more than she’s given them in a while, so they take it.

“B? You okay? You didn’t come down for dinner, so I brought you some pasta. Good ol’ fettuccine alfredo. Dawnie says it’s your favorite.”

The room is dark, moonlight leaking from the blinds. It’s quiet for a bit, so Faith sits on the edge of the bed. Buffy shifts slightly. “I think we should. Get away, I mean. I want to get out of SoCal, for a bit. See the rest of the country.”

Faith bites the inside of her cheek in a poor attempt not to smile. “You wanna go on a roadtrip? I can dig it, girl. Me and you on a trip, cross country? I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago. We can be gone for a month, two months. Focus on, y’know, being normal.”

Buffy sits up slightly, “Normal? Us? You must be dreaming. We’re still slayers.” She sighs, and hesitates. “But… off-duty. For the first time in eight, nine years, for me.”

The brunette leans over and smoothes out Buffy’s bed head. “We leave on thursday. Pack everything. We’ll take my car.”

They don’t have a lot of time for goodbyes to process, and maybe that’s a good thing. Wood and Giles are trying to figure out how to homeschool Dawn and the new Slayers, so they can try to catch them up for the summer. They can’t have another situation in which Dawn can be taken away, and now if they’re found out with a huge mass of young girls who may or may not be seen as runaways, it won’t be pretty for the Scoobies. Then again, quite a few people know the situation that went down in Sunnydale, at least, part of it. A lot of people were relocated, listed as missing, or just assumed dead. 

Both Buffy and Faith try their best not to think about how many they’re right about.

Their bags are packed and Buffy doesn’t ask where Faith got the money to fund their trip, but she herself has a bit saved up from her days working fast food. They don’t have a plan, and they both agree it’s better that way. Go where the current takes them. Well, if their current is called Faith, then their destination is Vegas. For a while, the top is down, but when they’re flying down the highway, they find that long hair plus high wind speeds isn’t a pretty mix. Mix CDs of Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears blast as they tie back their hair and jam along. Buffy watches Faith dancing in her seat and, lord, it’s embarrassing, but it’s kind of endearing. It’s hard for her to remember this is the same girl she watched kill a man, the same girl who tortured her boyfriend to get to her. The girl she stabbed and put into a coma for months. Yeah, maybe it’s harder to forget that one.

“You ready for Vegas, B? Gambling and prostitutes galore. My kinda scene, am I right?”

Buffy rolls her shoulders in the passenger seat, she tilts her head slightly, “That does sound like your forte. I, however, am going to stick to the hotel room and order room service.”

Faith’s smile falters. “You can’t stay in the room, B! You could do that at home. I was basically your room service provider. Maybe when you get there I’ll be able to change your mind. Hot boys? Hot girls? I won’t judge. You haven’t had much time to experience life without having to focus on saving everyone else’s.” She watches Buffy shrug out of the corner of her eye, and casually ignore the girl comment. Faith swallows, and focuses back on the road. 

Buffy falls asleep about three hours in, and Faith doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Maybe it’ll mean Buffy will stay up to go out with her, tonight. She doubts it, but it’s a nice thought. They stop at a gas station and Faith pays in cash, nudging Buffy to go to the bathroom and stretch her legs. She nods sleepily, stumbling slightly as she gets out of the car. It’s fucking adorable, and something pulls at Faith from deep within her stomach. Buffy offers to drive, once she’s returned, but Faith refuses. She’s still groggy, and, besides: she’s seen B drive. It ain’t pretty.

The rest of the drive is about two hours, Faith telling stories of her time away from Sunnydale. Buffy listens with a glazed look in her eye, and eventually the story tapers off. “You want some snacks, babe? We got some kickass potato chips.”

“I’m not hungry, actually.”

Faith frowns. “You haven’t eaten all day. It’s almost three.” Her voice lightens, “Besides, they’re salt and vinegar.”

“You know my weakness. I can’t help myself when salty junk food is involved.”

“Mmm, that’s why you enjoy spending time with me. Salty as can be.”

Buffy reaches back and grabs the back of chips and offers some to Faith, “And where did you get that idea?”

Faith opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue in the hopes of Buffy feeding her. She doesn’t, but then the younger woman makes some sort of whining noise with her mouth still open so Buffy shuts her up with mouthful of salt and vinegar. Buffy apparently knows one of the two ways to shut her up without fail. The other, well. She grins as she chews. “Thanks, B. You’re a catch.”

The Nevada sky is clear and dry and, since they’ve both pulled back their hair, Faith puts the top back down. Buffy smiles at her and the tug in the pit of her stomach is back. She swallows around the lump in her throat and shoves the crumbs from the chip bag in her mouth to ignore it. 

The hotel is something they won’t be able to afford for more than a few days, so they only plan to stay a max of two. It’s incredible. Compared to Faith’s old motel room and the cramped condo they and some of the baby slayers reside in after the collapse of Sunnydale, it’s the fucking promised land. It’s painted red with dark accents from the furniture, black satin sheets on the queen bed-- well. The only bed. That may prove awkward later on, but they’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. Faith follows Buffy’s stare, which thankfully isn’t on the bed, it’s on the-- oh, shit.

“Well. That sure is kinky.” Faith raises an eyebrow, and nudges her slightly, even though she can feel her cheeks heating, “In case you bring someone back here and you’re so shitfaced you forget what they look like while you’re at it, you have that nifty little mirror to save the confusion.”

“I doubt I’ll be bringing anyone back here, but in your case: when you do, just make sure to kick them out after. I need a place to sleep and for the price we paid, this bed probably has magical qualities.”

“Won’t be gettin’ any if you’re not gettin’ any, babe. I’m a girl of honor.”

“I’m touched.”

Faith grabs a shower and hums to herself, graduating to a full-on, off key belt. Letting loose. Feels good. This road trip thing could be nice, after the constant shit they’d been through. Seeing Buffy smile again’s definitely a plus. She’s feeling good about everything when she exits the bathroom and finds B laying down in bed, staring at the ceiling. She swallows.

“Get your pretty ass in the shower and I’ll do your makeup when you get out. We’re gonna have fun tonight, B. The kind that doesn’t involve murder. ‘Less we talkin’ about murderin’ that pussy, am I right?”

Buffy jolts as she sits up, then snorts, and when she emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, Faith is probably wearing less than she was  _ when she was just in the towel _ .

“Like what you see, B?” She teases as she applies another layer of lipstick, “I have an outfit for you, too, don’t worry. It’s on the bed.”

It’s eight thirty when Faith Lehane walks out of the room with Buffy Summers trailing behind. Slots and table games are her forte, and even though she wants the blonde to get out there and have a good time for herself, having her lingering over her shoulder is a bit of a good luck charm. Faith wins and orders them both drinks, something pink and girly that tastes like strawberry hard candy. After two, Buffy begins to relax. It convinces Faith to quit while she’s ahead and claim her winnings, heading over to sit at the bar and laugh at the drunk men who hit on them.

“He’s kinda cute.” Faith eyes the man who’s eyeing Buffy, but the Buffy’s face scrunches up.

“Him? Not my type. Besides,” Her voice is thick from the sweet alcohol, tongue pink, “He’s already into me. I like the thrill of the chase.”

“You and me both, B.” She leans back and her eyes take their time studying the other slayer. “I say tomorrow we hit up some sites, crash maybe one more night, then on our way. We can do whatever we want; grand and a half is definitely gonna help us out on the money front.”

Faith learns that she holds her liquor (or, in this case: her strawberry martini) a lot better than her slightly older counterpart. Buffy is a giggling mess when they stumble back to their room, collapsing on the bed while Faith kicks off her pants. She changes and Buffy eyes her without shame, glassy and dazed. When Faith grabs a large tee shirt and hesitates in pulling it over her head, the blonde comments on it.

“Nah, I just usually sleep naked, so it’s weird for me.”

“You can sleep naked if y’want! I like sleeping all nude-y, too. Let’s do that.”

Faith curses every single force, person, and all the fate-riddled bullshit that’s brought her to the moment Buffy Summers suggests they sleep naked together. She coughs through the sudden dryness of her throat and pulls on the shirt, smoothing it down. “You’re drunk, B. It’s endearing, but I’m thinking if you’re one of those black out drunks and you wake up to the two of us naked in bed, you’ll be jumping to some conclusions.”

“Mmm, you’re right.” Buffy sighs, cuddling up to a pillow, and as Faith turns off the light and climbs in bed with her, she unzips Buffy’s dress slightly to let her breathe easier. 

That night, Faith Lehane discovers that the woman who saved the world, the most important slayer in the line’s history, the thing of demons’ nightmares..? She’s a cuddler.


	2. City of Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith and Buffy take on the so-called City of Sin. Buffy gets Faith a present, and they both try not to let the past catch up with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meant to update this yesterday but i got my wisdom teeth out and i'm still a little high on meds. i realized that in chapter one i accidentally showed a bit of buffy's voice/pov and i didn't mean to. oh well. from now on it's supposed to be 3rd person ltd. with faith.  
> ANYWAY: there will be eventual monster slayage, smooches of the queer sort, and even more hand holding. all in due time, my friends. i live for the slow burn.  
> reviews are appreciated and give me #life. follow me on tumblr @bisexualbuffy for lots of fuffy feelings. xoxo.

Retail therapy is always a stress relief for Buffy, so Faith convinces her to take a chunk of her winnings from the night before. It’s cute, how reluctant she is to take the money, that is, until she sees this dress on a mannequin and _oh, if only I had tits, y’know?_

“C’mon, B. You can pull it off. That little number would look killer on you. And with that itty bitty waist? You’ll have guys lining up to buy you dinner.”

She tries it on and Faith pays the saleswoman as soon as Buffy walks out, and the woman actually blushes. “Aren’t you going to look?”

Faith hasn’t taken her eyes off of her. “Oh, trust me, I’m looking.” She chuckles at herself, and Buffy walks around in the little sundress to the other side of the store. This gives Faith a moment to ask herself what the fuck she thinks she’s doing, looking at her _friend_ like that.

No.

No, they’d never _just_ been friends. Never will.

That doesn’t change that fact that this is still Buffy fucking Summers, whose first boyfriend lost his soul and psychologically tortured her and left her when he gained it back. Whose second boyfriend was that stupid high schooler who made her feel like shit, whose third boyfriend blamed her for his own inadequacies.

And whose fourth boyfriend died to save the world for her. Only a fucking month ago, Tuesday.

Yeah, Lehane. You should probably take it down a key.

Buffy walks back over from the register and snaps the girl out of her daze. “Hey. You want to look more, or? Because I’m going to change.”

And change she does, back into her little shorts and tank top that have Faith feeling even hotter than the weather man’s seventy degree report. The entire day, their phones are turned off in silent defiance, so their only focus is feeling _alive_ after the world wanting them dead.

“I don’t think I’ve been as pale as I was forty eight hours ago since I discovered tanning beds when I was fourteen.” Buffy admits with a smile, slathering on another coat of sunscreen. “And with the nocturnal-ness that comes with being the Slayer, the sun became mostly a ‘phew, I have a few more hours to do my chem homework before I have to dust some bastards because _blah blah blah_ chosen one _blah blah blah_ Hellmouth _blah blah blah_ I hold the weight of the world’. So. Tanning beds.”

“That shit gives you the Big C, B. You won’t need tanning beds for the next few months, at least. We’ll get you all crispy the old-fashioned way.”

The sun eventually goes down, and the slayers both feel the itch in their palms, the twitch of their fingers. The ache for the hunt. “The city of sin, they call it,” Faith cracks her fingers, eyes looming on the pink lipstick print Buffy leaves on her martini glass, “Ready to live up to it’s name?”

Buffy, voice wet and eyes ablaze, looks at her mischievously, “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well,” She drawls, “We could go dancing. The clubs here are killer.”

“What are we waiting for?”

It would be stupid of Faith not to see what a change is happening in Buffy Summers, at least, from their time in the condo to where they are now, and it’d only been a few days. She’ll admit, she’s trying to keep them busy, to keep her from falling back into the nearly catatonic depression that gripped her since the final battle with The First. Since Anya’s death.

Since Spike’s.

At the club, a man tries to touch her, and she jerks away in fear. Faith grabs her hips and pulls her close and holds her until she stops shaking.

They call it a night.

“I’ve been here, before.” Buffy slurs quietly, curled up on the far right of the bed. Her skin is burning and the heat radiates from Faith’s sun baked skin as well, so they’ve decided to put a bit of space between them. “Vegas. When I was younger.” She can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the desperation that’s loosening her tongue.

Faith hums. “Can’t say I can imagine Joyce making a family outing out of this place.”

“I ran away. I was fifteen, just called upon.” She shifts, and Faith has her eyes trained on the wall. She stays silent, waiting for her to continue. “You know how it is. It’s scary. Th-there’s suddenly this whole world, one that isn’t for your friends and your family, or anyone else. And it’s terrifying. Not the… the demons, really. Well, yeah, but. The secrets. I was always so tired. I lost most of my friends. Dawn found my… my diary. I had to tell my parents.” Buffy shifts again, and this time, Faith feels her shaky breath on the back of her neck. “They thought I was insane. They sent me away.”

Faith nods, head still on the pillow. Her hand searches hesitantly for Buffy’s.

“No one believed me. So I gave up. I lied until they let me go home. It took weeks. I was stuck there for almost a month.”

Faith finally finds her hand and laces their fingers together. Neither comment on it. “Of all places, Vegas sounds like a cool place to crash. Maybe not as a fifteen year old, but. It’s over. Joyce realized her mistake, and I’m sure Dawnie realized she’d fucked up.”

Buffy inches closer, nose in Faith’s hair. _Shit_ , Faith begins to wonder, did she remember to shampoo?

“Good night, Faith.”

 

* * *

 They’re back in the car as the sun rises, with Buffy nursing her burnt shoulders and Faith one handedly trying to rub cream across the bridge of her nose.

“Here, let me get it. Keep your focus on the road.” Buffy rubs the cream over the top of her cheekbones, skin hot beneath her fingertips. Faith’s breath is caught in her throat and Buffy’s hands are shaking. “Either your sunburn is crazy hot or somebody is blushing.”

“Oh, fuck off, Summers. Can’t help it when a cute girl is touching me, in any sense of the word.”

Wow. _That_ didn’t sound gay at all. Don’t be such a dyke, Lehane. You’re with the wrong Scooby to be a friend of Sappho.

 

* * *

 Buffy ends up taking the wheel two and a half hours in, after pestering Faith for the past hour and forty five minutes. Their next destination ends up being Phoenix, and it’s too fucking hot for make-up, for shorts that go past upper thighs. Faith tastes salt in the corner of her mouth, mixed with the strawberry lip balm Buffy offered her earlier. It’s sticky and sweet and _holy shit,_ the fan in their motel is _not_ doing enough. The older slayer’s strewn herself across the bed, sports bra under the flimsy white tank top she’s tugging at in an attempt to cool her body. Faith smirks and takes off her own shirt. “I say we hit the pool, yeah?”

Buffy moans in agreement and Faith’s gut twists. “Yes. Oh my god, yes. I’m going to die if we stay like this much longer.”

The pool is small and shitty and nothing like the one back in Vegas, but it’s below seventy degrees and that’s all that matters. The chlorine makes their sunburns prickle with pain but the cool water distracts from the dry, dusty air. Faith studies a droplet of water that runs down Buffy’s neck and into her cleavage. She _knows_ her eyes are dilated.

Balls.

“So. We should do dinner tonight. As much as I’ve enjoyed the past few days, a girl can’t live off fruity alcoholic beverages and olives.”

“I hear you. We have hours, though. We should try to find something to pass the time. You a cheesy tourist trap kinda gal? Who knows-- Phoenix could be the home of the world’s largest rubber band ball.”

The pamphlets in the motel’s lobby advertise everything from the zoo to hiking. Buffy’s nose wrinkles when she suggests the zoo.

“No can do. Evil hyenas, dead principal, sexual assault. Can’t do zoos.”

Faith quirks a brow, but nods. “Alright. Museum?”

Buffy shakes her head, again. “It’s an art museum, and… I mean. Mom, she--... I don’t want to open that can of worms right now, you know?” Her eyes are glassy and staring at the pamphlet in her hands. A shiver of fear runs up Faith’s spine.

“This other place has coasters and mini-golf.”

Buffy’s eyes widen slightly and her fingers twitch, “I… I’m sorry, I-- I’m such a downer. I think I might just… just lay down. You can go out.”

Faith takes a deep breath, “B, what do you have against roller coasters and golf?”

“I can’t…” Buffy’s eyes dart to the woman at the check-in counter who’s reading some gossip magazine, “I can’t talk about it, right now. I just need to lay down for a bit.”

Faith seemingly drops it as they go back to the room to change, but when Buffy pulls out a pajama t-shirt, she groans. “Seriously, Buffy. What _is_ it?”

Buffy’s knuckles go white, “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Why not?”

“Because he-- I killed-- I _thought--_ !” She shoves a pillow into her face, “...there was a man, and he threatened me, and no one believed me, and I-- I _killed_ him, but he wasn’t human, but I thought he was and he… ugh! _Golf_.”

Faith blinks. That doesn’t seem to have any correlation, but she can get where she’s coming from. PTSD’s a bitch. “Alright. Get dressed. We’re going somewhere else. Botanical garden? Our lives’ purpose may be to battle the forces of darkness, but flowers are nice. Flowers probably won’t give us panic attacks.”

On the ride there, Buffy laces their fingers together.

They don’t separate until they park.

Buffy had been quiet through the drive, and it takes her a few moments to blink back to reality. Faith pays for their entry and Buffy picks a trail for them to start on.

“We have, like, three and a half hours before we can head to dinner, so time is not of the essence. Lead the way, B.”

Buffy picks the trail Faith assumed she would: the one with wildflowers and hummingbirds and a butterfly exhibit. It’s quiet, only a few people scattered around, most others probably not wanting to brave the heat. The trail is filled with low buzzing from bees and the trickle of water from somewhere unseen. Their fingers brush, over and over, but this time, neither are going to give in first.

The hummingbird exhibit is cute and cool until the slayers, in dual horror, realize the birds could possibly shit on their cute outfits. The butterfly exhibit is nicer. Buffy watches Faith feed them, a laugh falling from her tongue, and she smiles.

“I forget you’re younger than me, most of the time.”

“Not by much, cutie. Few weeks at most.”

“You look younger. ...I mean, than usual. I guess that makes sense, with the usual being death and despair. Am I putting my foot in my mouth?”

A butterfly lands on Buffy’s head and Faith watches another land on her nose.

 

* * *

The sun is much lower in the sky when they go out to the wildflowers. It smells like sunshine and a scent that’s a more overpowering version of Buffy’s body mist. Buffy rummages through her purse and pulls out something silver in her hands. “I got you something, back in Vegas. I didn’t know when to give it to you, but you should wear it to dinner.” Buffy holds it up; a silver cross on a chain. “I know it’s nothing big, but I saw it and thought of you, and I already have one. So. It’s sorta stupid, but I wanted to give it to you as a thank you. At the time, for the money for the dress. But. I mean… for this whole thing. It’s nice. I haven’t felt this free since, uh. Since Anne.”

Faith tries to ignore the Anne comment, but can’t quite push away the false hope. Was Anne a friend? A _more than_ friend? She focuses back on the necklace in front of her. When she reaches out, her fucking hands are shaking.

“Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Uh… yeah.” Buffy’s fingers are trembling as they brush the back of Faith’s neck. She shivers, and Buffy hums. Her touch lingers as she secures the clasp, tracing the knot at the top of her spine. Faith’s mind flashes with images of Buffy in their shared bed, fingers tracing over her skin as sunlight washes over her own. Her hair tied back messily and a smile stretching her lips. Buffy’s hands fall, though, and the enormity of the moment drowns the brunette momentarily. She reaches up and feels the smooth, cool silver. “Thanks. I… I mean it. I usually don’t do presents, or, I’m not on the receiving end of them.” When was the last time she’d received a gift, other than from Wilkins, the knife Buffy’d used to nearly kill her? Her mom gave her a pack of cigs for her thirteenth birthday. The gift of eventual lung cancer.

Thanks, Mommy Dearest.

She turns to her and her eyes fall immediately to the cross on her breast. Angel had given it to her, hadn’t he?

Buffy’s eyes are trained on Faith’s profile as she stares out at the flowers, and Faith does her best to pretend she doesn’t notice.

 

* * *

Dinner is sitting at a high top table and Buffy’s strappy heel’d foot accidentally (accidentally?) bumping Faith’s leg. Buffy snorting as Faith recalls tales from back before, before this _war_ got to them, back to their library days, back before she killed a man. When they were just girls grappling with the great, terrible power they were burdened to harness.

The sun’s disappeared, and when the conversation fades and their eyes wander to the window, the itch in their veins returns.

_hunt. stake. kill._

With nothing but a shared look, they _know_.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Faith stirs the straw in her glass of Pepsi, “We try so hard to get away from it all. Hop in a car and drive and drive, but the urges are still there. It’s twisted. Sick, even. Not that I expected any less.”

Buffy pops her fingers one by one, staring at the salt shaker on the table between them. “You’re right.” She says softly.

She doesn’t meet Faith’s gaze again for the rest of the night.


	3. HeteroSpecs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slayers on water slides, Buffy losing her cool, and Faith is never, ever drunk enough for this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's wednesday aka update day!! thank u all for stickin around to read this ur all swell and ur reviews make my day.
> 
> anyways, the other night i cried writing chapter five so you have that to look forward to. (whether it was the writing or the pain meds, we don't know. probably a mix of the two)

“Wet and Wild.”

Faith’s eyes are bleary and her hair’s mused and she feels like she’s in need of a shower. “Is that a porno or an offer?”

Buffy’s cheeks color as she throws her a look. “The water park, Faith. Don’t be a perv.”

“Mmm. It’s been a while. Wood does not, actually, live up to that name. If you catch my drift.”

“Ewwwww…” Buffy’s nose scrunches, and it’s fucking adorable. Faith grins. “Anyway, the water park. We should go. If we’re sticking around, we might as well, right? Beats sticking around this sauna. My fashion sense does not include pit stains, thank you very much.”

 

* * *

Faith Lehane has survived a hell of a lot in her lifetime. Prison. Demons. Abuse. Betrayal. Community soap.

None of that compares to Buffy Summers in a bikini.

Scratch that. The way Buffy Summers looks at her, in her own bikini, with parted lips and stuttered breathing. That shit’s gonna cause her to fucking flatline.

The park is, as expected, filled to the brim with families and teenagers and everyone looking for a solution to the heat wave. Their first move is the huge pool, but competition is their nature, so the dual slides call to them. Racing. Buffy winning every fucking time by a landslide. She’s tiny and compact, which must be the deciding factor. Faith is a little more than miffed about it, but it’s hard to stay grumpy when Buffy sticks out her tongue and does a little victory dance. Even harder when she makes that adorably offended face when Faith splashes her.

Pissing off this tiny ball of rage always brought joy to her in the past. That hasn’t changed.

Laying out in the sun, Faith literally feels her skin burning. “Pass me the sunscreen.”

“Yikes, your back is looking more tomato than not. I got this.” Buffy squirts the sunblock into her palm and gets to work, and Faith has to employ her goddamn Slayer strength so as not to moan out loud.

_We’re in public we’re in public we’re in public we’re in p--_

“Flip over.”

_The lord is testing me._

Faith hesitates only slightly, but she assumes Buffy operates in life with HeteroSpecs, so she won’t pick up on the magnitude of her sapphic feelings. The problem, here, though, is that now the woman has a clear view of her face. It’s fucking hard to keep a straight (in both senses of the word) face when the girl of your wet dreams is massaging sunblock into your stomach and _fucking christ she’s drifting lower_.

There are kids here, Lehane. Keep it together.

“You okay?” She asks, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “You look flushed.”

“Probably need something to drink. Getting dehydrated.”

They share iced teas and go on more thrilling slides, to the point where Buffy is momentarily tinted a sickly green. After that, with the sun lowering in the sky and their stomachs decidedly empty, they head back to the motel. Buffy, in an effort to save money, decided earlier that day that she’ll cook...ish. She bought a box of macaroni, which is likely the best they can do with the piece of shit ‘stove’ that came with the room. Faith wants to point out that money isn’t a problem, that she can get money wired to her at any time from connections that may not be entirely legal. Somehow she feels Buffy will disapprove, and she would argue that it’s what Spike would have done, but bringing up the dead boyfriend is probably not the best idea.

 

* * *

They fight, later that night. Something small happens, something with Faith getting water all over the tile of the bathroom after her shower and Buffy nearly slipping and before long they’re at each other’s throats. It’s not really _them_ , they’re well aware. It’s the thrumming under their palms and the cold sweat in an ache for the kill. Buffy has her pinned against the wall and Faith wants to let her, but she’s Faith fucking Lehane, and she might need this more than Buffy does. It’s not exactly easy, but Faith pushes her off and pins her down to the bed, bodies pressed together and good _lord_ , this is simultaneously helping the slaying urges and the, uh… _other_ ones.

Buffy bucks her hips and the brunette _grunts_.

“That the best you got, B?” Faith leans in close, lips barely an inch apart, “Gonna have to do better than that.”

“Shut _up_.”

“You don’t even know what you’re fighting for, do you?” Faith laughs at her even as Buffy gets the upperhand and her face is slammed into the wall, skin splitting up in the corner of her forehead and she feels the blood beginning to drip. Her eyes are hazy and black and she grins. “You miss it. You miss the violence, B. And you know you can use me to get it out.”

Buffy’s fist connects with her face and she laughs again, spitting blood. “Happy, B?”

Realization dawns on Buffy’s face slowly. “Oh-- oh, god…”

Faith had actually missed this. The taunting, the fighting. The taste of blood in her teeth. Frankly, she’s turned on, because this is their game, always has been, and although all this domestic stuff has been good, deep down, _this_ is who they are. Who they always will be. Young gods trapped in the bodies of men. “What’s the matter, doll? Forgotten what you’re capable of?”

Something flashes in her eyes, and she grabs her coat and runs out of the room.

Great.

She’s not drunk enough for this.

 

* * *

Faith actually ends up just going to sleep. She had debated whether or not to stay up in wait for the other slayer, but after the long day at the waterpark and having to dress her wound, she’s beat. She’s awakened a few hours later to the petite blonde climbing into bed, curling against her.

“I’m sorry.” She smells like cigarettes and the night air, and Faith hums in response. “It’s been weird, without patrolling. Like they say, ha, you can take the slayer out of the patrol, but you can’t take the patrol out of the slayer.” Her fingers are running along Faith’s arm, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel the goosebumps. “I… I won’t hurt you again. I used to-- to hurt… the person I loved--… And I c-can’t...”

Faith’s breath hitches.

Love?

“My feelings are… are everywhere. With working through what happened and trying to feel normal again. You just… I took it out on you.”

“Fine by me, B. You know I’m into the violence. Get a kick outta it.” She turns to face Buffy, without realizing just how close it is they are. Oh, _Christ_.

“I… I do, too. Maybe less actual pain, next time? Move it to a gym?” Buffy feels her face, thumb brushing the bandage on her forehead. Her lips press to it gently. “Next time we settle for a bit, we’ll find one of those twenty four hour gyms. I’m hardcore missing my punching bag from The Magic Box.”

Faith’s skin is buzzing from Buffy’s kiss. She swallows, finding her hand in the darkness and bringing it to her, lips brushing her knuckles. A wonderful dizziness spreads throughout her chest. Oh, god. This is _not_ good.

Buffy’s arms wrap around her. Faith can hardly breathe. “Good night, F.”

“Ditto, B.”

Sleep eludes her for what feels like hours after Buffy falls asleep. She doesn’t want to forget the feeling of laying in her arms, because God knows if this will ever happen again. She has to commit it to memory. The warmth of her body through the tank top, the softness of her breasts against her, the slow, even breathing. It hits that this situation has never happened to her before. Falling asleep in someone’s arms. It’s presented itself, of course, after one night stands and other such activities. She’d never wanted it. But, when the one in question is Buffy Summers, Faith decides, as she fades into unconsciousness, she’d be an idiot to pass it up.

 

* * *

Buffy wakes her up before the neon alarm clock even reads six.

“I couldn’t sleep,” She whispers, “I packed our things. Might as well get a move on, right? You can sleep in the car. I’m gonna drive and we’ll see where we end up, alright?”

Faith scowls, mumbling to herself about how exhausted she is. “Did y’already pack my toothbrush?”

Buffy frowns. “Uh… there’s a complimentary one still in the bathroom. Go for it.”

She feels like a zombie, limbs heavy as her bare feet hit the carpet. God, she’d only been sleeping a few hours, why is her morning breath so bad? Eugh.

They get in the car (it seems Buffy’s already checked them out) and Faith’s head immediately lulls against the window. It’s surprising, what with her usual fear of B’s driving capabilities. She’s just too tired for that shit. She hears Buffy turn the key in the ignition, hand reaching over and squeezing hers. Her stomach fills with warm, sleepy butterflies.

“I’ll wake you when I stop for the bathroom. I’ll try not to disrupt your dreams with my driving.”

She’s already out cold.

* * *

 

It’s a shock that she awakens to a McDonalds biscuit being waved under her nose instead of the car crash she’d anticipated. Faith grabs it and sleepily grins at her. “G’morning. Where are we?”

“Lordsburg, New Mexico. Just stopping for brekkie and a pee break.” Oh. The car isn’t moving. She should have already noticed that, but.

“Time?”

“Quarter past nine.”

“Shit, want me to drive?” She stretches, then takes a huge bite of her biscuit. “Do you have any idea of where we might be heading?”

“Texas, probably. I estimate that we can be in Austin by dinner time, if we keep going non-stop, but that takes the fun out of it.” Buffy’s hand fidgets, and then she brushes hair out of Faith’s face. Her fingertips graze her skin and her eyes slip shut. B’s voice brings her back. “If you wanna drive, just see where the open road takes us.”

“I’ll drive, but I’m getting coffee first. You, however, need sleep. You look like hell.”

“Thanks. I lived there for a few years, actually. Nice place, decent school district, but surprisingly humid. Bit of a deal breaker.”

Faith shakes her head and smiles. “Never lost that sense of humor, did ya?” Her voice softens, “ An apocalypse for every day of the week couldn’t deter you.” Faith feels it, the air crackling. This could be the moment. She could lean over and kiss her.

“Mmm. What can I say? I’ll always be a snarky bitch. Just not as pronounced as you. Go get your coffee, and I think I’ll take you up on the napping suggestion.”

The air is back to radio silence; she figured as much, anyway. It isn’t time for that. She doesn’t know if it will ever be time for that. Buffy’s a puzzle, always has been, but it’s more than likely she’s not… into her, that way. Even if she does like girls, Faith has made mistakes. None of that run-of-the-mill shit. Murder. Prison. Stealing her body. That… that isn’t something she likes to remember. Her stomach flops in disgust.

How could Buffy Summers ever love her if she hates herself so goddamn much?

One black coffee, and they’re on the road. Buffy sleepily offers her hand, and Faith pretends not to see.

 

* * *

Buffy wakes up about two hours later. The drive had been mostly in silence, Faith turning off the radio a few miles into Texas. Fuckin’ country music. Crooning over trucks and farmers’ daughters. Why do they all sound the same? Stop writing love ballads to your fucking tractor and add some sort of actual beat, thanks.

“Where are we?” Buffy mumbles, rubbing her eyes. It ends up smudging what’s left of her eyeliner, and it’s sort of adorable.

“No fuckin’ clue. Texas. Somewhere in Texas. But that’s not saying much considering it’s the size of a decently sized country on its own.”

Buffy giggles. Cheeks pink. Giggles.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s stupid. I’m just thinking about that Spongebob Squarepants episode where she’s singing that song and then they throw her a party all Texas themed.”

Faith can’t help it; she grins. “You watch Spongebob? Seriously?”

Buffy bites the inside of her cheek and tries not to look too embarrassed. “Willow and Tara used to watch it with Dawnie while I was…” Faith sees her picking at her nails from the corner of her eye, “I joined in when I came back. It was something mindless to do to spend time with them that didn’t make me, uh. Remember the circumstances. I could just be… there.” The silence is deafening. “Besides. It’s funny.”

“I’ve seen a few episodes,” Faith confesses, and it’s her turn to be embarrassed. “I like the the hooky one.”

Buffy takes to reading the book on roadside attractions and begins reading them aloud.

“Grave of the ‘Wild West’s Number One Killer’?”

“You really itching to get back into a graveyard?” The top is down, again, so she has to talk over the wind. Buffy makes a small noise of agreement and continues listing them off. “A vintage gas station. A really big light up star. A few different stops with animal skulls. Ew.”

“Anything actually worth stopping for?” She questions, then smirks, “I was really hoping for something of the giant rubber band ball variety.”

“There’s a… giant pair of legs.  I think it’s supposed to be a statue, and now I’m intrigued.” She flips the page, “Whoa, wait. World’s largest paper airplane. That sounds like something you’re looking for.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” She responds, “How far off is that?”

“Hold on-- it’s actually made of wood.But paper is made out of wood, so it’s not false advertising.”

“Bullshit.” Faith nudges her, “It’s like the rectangle and square situation. All paper is wood but not all wood is paper.”

“...still wanna go?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Buffy laughs and rests her hand, palm up, on the middle console. It’s an invitation.

This time, Faith takes it.


	4. Discrepency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith's a fan of finger puppets, hits the gym, and Buffy asks some questions that have Faith choking on her own tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTN: aight, this chapter has sexual language and pretty blatant sexual situations. nothing too intense, but be wary if that's not your thing!  
> as usual, your reviews are hella appreciated! follow me on tumblr @bisexualbuffy for lots of fuffy and faith lehane in general.

Abilene, Texas is sort of a hidden gem. It’s hot as fuck but the town (city?) is colorful and lively. Not to mention there’s a giant paper airplane thing they take various pictures with to send to the Scoobies. 

“I almost feel… bad.” Buffy says as Faith slaps on some stamps to the envelope of pictures, “I… should-- you know, feel bad. Right?”

“The only thing you need to be feeling is starved, B. Because I could eat an entire village, right now. Let’s get barbeque.” 

Buffy huffs. “I’m serious.”

Faith scrawls on the address (literally addressed to _The Scooby Gang_ ) and pops it into the post office’s drop off. She looks up, “Why would you feel bad?”

“I haven’t called them, much. Dawnie and Willow and Xander. I’ve barely talked to Giles.”

“They know you’re busy.” Faith waves off as they climb back into the car, and she tries to remember where it was they’d passed that huge barbeque joint.

“But I… I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t even know if I ever want to…” The dramatic pause has Faith stop what she’s doing and turn to her. “...to go back.”

That takes a moment for her to respond to. She starts driving, scanning the area for a place to grab a bite. Her heart thumps. “Maybe we don’t have to.” Her voice may have wavered, she can’t be sure. “There’s hundreds, maybe thousands of newly activated slayers out there. What’s two less?”

“You tempt me.” Buffy eyes her, “But once a slayer, always a slayer. And they’re going to need training. We gotta be there for that.”

“We?” Faith frowns, “Didn’t think I still had a real membership with the Scoobies. Assumed this whole thing with The First was just an exception.”

“You’re a slayer. An experienced one.” Buffy’s eyes harden, “That’s valuable. We need you. The past is the past. And, I know you’ll--… you’re on our side.”

Faith nods stiffly. They finally found the barbeque restaurant, but she’s suddenly not hungry. “I think I’m gonna find a gym. Know it’s bad when it’s full daylight and the slaying urges are surfacing.”

“I’ll come with--”

“No.” She shakes her head with an unconvincing smile. “We’ve been together twenty four seven for over a week. Need me a bit of violence right now that doesn’t involve another little fight to the death on the bed. Now,  _ in  _ the bed is a different story…”

Buffy’s eyes crinkle when she laughs and gives in. “Fine. I could probably use some alone time, too. I’ll finally run out of excuses not to check in on Dawn, so I might as well find out how badly she’s doing with her homeschooling.”

Faith drops Buffy at a mall that’s less than half a mile from the Planet Fitness she decides to join, She hopes that whole ‘no judgement’ policy extends to possibly breaking their punching bags.

Before long, she’s wrapping her hands and going to town. Thoughts, faces swirl in her head. Her mother. Mayor Wilkins-- no,  _ The First _ as Mayor Wilkins. Prison guards. The warden. Demons. Buffy.

_ Buffy? _

She stops momentarily, breathing hard. Christ, this whole thing with B is getting to her. Maybe she just needs to get laid. Nah. She’ll just take care of that herself. Of course, that would work out a  _ hell  _ of a lot better if they weren’t sharing a bed. Ironic. 

They could do it. It’s not like B has been  _ unwelcoming  _ to her advances. Hell, there’ve been plenty of opportunities. Many more to come. She thinks back to Phoenix, watching water droplets trail between her breasts.

She throws a punch. A shiver runs up her spine.

The feeling of Buffy’s tanned legs, tangled with her own as she awakens late at night. 

Another punch.

Buffy’s hands massaging lotion into her reddening skin.

The tape starts bleeding through. She doesn’t care. She has to get this out of her head. What’s the best case scenario, Lehane? You’re both drunk, clothes are shed, and she never looks you in the eye again? If they ever got out in the open with these…  _ feelings _ , there’s nothing saying Buffy wouldn’t freak and grab the next flight back to SoCal. She could go fuckin’ catatonic, again. Great. 

By the time she stops, she’s drenched in sweat, blood dripping from the tape around her knuckles. She laughs, flexing her fingers. It’s probably time to hit the shower. 

The water stings her sunburn, burns her busted hands. She groans, and weighs her options. Option one, jill off knowing B can’t walk in, but possibly be late picking her up and/or be heard by the gym’s other patrons. Option two, continue ignoring the ache between her legs until later when Buffy’s out of their room. Option two includes a bed, and a pillow that smells like Buffy’s shampoo. That one wins out.

The drive back is filled with Buffy’s rambles about a shoe store’s saleswoman getting in her face for insulting her choice of footwear. “Like, really,” She rolls her eyes, “It’s like someone working at a perfume outlet with major B.O. That’s, like, sacrilege. Right?”

“Absolutely.” Faith smirks as they pull into the motel parking lot. “Hey, you wanna maybe go out and pick up Chinese? I’d perform sexual  _ favors  _ for some lo mein, about now.”

“No favors, of the sexual variety or otherwise, are needed. I want fried rice. Weird to get back here and go right back out, though.”

“I’m gonna sit this one out, actually.” Faith unbuckles her seatbelt and exits, “I need me a can of grape soda and a nap after that gym sesh.” God, she hopes she buys this.

“Mmm. Okay. Chicken lo mein for you, rice for me, and perhaps an order of dumplings. Back in a flash.”

Buffy awkwardly scoots over the middle console and into the driver’s seat, waggling her fingers as she puts the car back in reverse. The moment she’s out of the parking lot, Faith busts in the door of their room and rummages through her bag.

Bingo.

Prison had been hell, but if there's one thing it’d taught Faith Lehane, it’s that a girl really can’t live without her vibrator.

She has a good twenty minutes to herself. She can be quick. It’s not like she needs much foreplay. The pillow, the bed smell like her. Some weird mixture of sweat and the artificial sweetness of her body mist, the tropical scent of her shampoo. She switches the toy on, low grunt caught in her throat as it drifts down her stomach.

_ Buffy’s legs. Buffy’s hair. Buffy’s smile. _

It drifts lower. She writhes.

_ Buffy’s thighs. Buffy’s stomach. The noises she makes when she’s slaying.  _

Faith chokes on relief, hips canting.

_ Buffy’s chest. Buffy’s tongue. Buffy. Buffy Buffy Buffybuffybuffy. _

Faith’s always been loud. It’s what got her caught in the 8th grade janitor’s closet with Joey somethin’-or-other. She moans and fuck, it feels incredible, and just imagining it’s her tongue, her fingers... _ god _ , she’s probably a freak in the sack.

“So, I just realized you totally had my wallet in your--  _ oh, _ god! Sorry!” Buffy stammers, and Faith can hardly hear her over the pounding in her ears. She switches the vibrator off, but has yet to move from her position and thank  _ fuck  _ she’s wearing panties because now is not the time to be giving Summers a show.

“I… thought you’d be out longer. No shame in relieving a bit of tension, but I thought you’d appreciate discrepancy.”

“No, no, I…” She’s still staring. 

“You..?” Faith, at this point, gives up, shifting her position and tucking her legs beneath her. Goddammit. She sighs. “My purse is on the table, just take a twenty from my wallet.”

“Um, okay. Sorry. You can go back to, uh. That. I’m gonna go.”

“Solid plan.” Faith raises an eyebrow, and watches Buffy’s blush deepen. “Seeya on the flipside, preferably with my chicken lo mein.”

Buffy grabs the cash and darts out the door, leaving Faith feeling particularly... numb. The air is stagnant and sour, her hands are tingling. After a while, she gets up and showers again, until her skin is raw and red and she no longer feels the burning in her knuckles. (Perhaps that’s just the accelerated Slayer healing, though, because the skin looks less broken, the wound significantly tamed.) She changes into fresh pajamas, and brushes her hair absently until Buffy knocks on the door and comes in slowly, Christ, she’s adorable, and looks relieved to find the other slayer fully clothed. 

“I snuck extra fortune cookies.” She tosses her a few, and plops down on the bed. “I called Dawnie, earlier. Things are going okay at Scooby central. Apparently Wood and Will are like good cop-bad cop when it comes to teaching. Their grades are steadily increasing, though. Dawn actually knows what she’s doing in the math department, for once. I think this might indicate the real end of the world. Haha. Kidding.”

Faith opens her cookie and pulls out the slip of paper.

_ The past belongs to the past, and now is the time to start a new beginning. _

Bullshit.

“I’m glad they didn’t drag me in there. Never finished high school, obviously. Dawnie probably has a more complete education than I do.” She feels Buffy’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t say anything, so they sit in a decently comfortable silence. 

“I don’t even think I technically passed my history class, but I’m sure all my records were destroyed when the school blew up, so the college accepted me anyway.” At least two commercial breaks have passed at this point, so Faith’s caught off guard. In fact, it takes her a few moments just to remember the context of the conversation.

“A history class is one thing. Three and a half semesters worth of high school’s something else, entirely.” She turns up the TV, chewing a bit more forcibly than truly needed. God, she hates this topic.

Buffy doesn’t talk again until the next commercial break. “Can I ask you a TMI question?”

She attempts to look unfazed. “Go ahead.”

“Did you… when I left..? Did you… finish?”

Faith laughs, though it comes out as more of a bark. “No. The sudden interruption killed the mood.”

Buffy frowns. “Sorry.” Her fork pokes at the last dumpling and, after a moment’s hesitation, she takes it and continues. “Can I tell you something a little TMI?”

Faith sighs, and tries to ignore the way her stomach flips. “Go for it.”

“I haven’t, uh. I can’t remember the last time I did…  _ it…  _ myself. Things have been so crazy the past few years, and after that few months when--... I’m rambling. You know what I’m saying, though.”

“You’re telling me you miss masturbating.”

Buffy’s nose scrunches. “I hate that word.”

“Jilling off. Playing finger puppets. Exploring your love cave. Sticking your digits in your cunt.”

Buffy lets out a childish noise of disgust. “You’re vulgar. You sound like Anya.”

“No shame. Dug the chick, even if she did overshare a bit on the sex life. Mostly bothered me just because it was with  _ Xander _ . Even I don’t want to think of him like that, and  _ I _ fucked him.”

“Ew. Mental image.” Her nose scrunches again, and Faith grins, nudging her slightly as she stands.

“On that note, I’m in desperate need of a smoke.” She rolls her shoulders, then grabs the pack of cigarettes from her purse. A few are missing. She doesn’t comment on it.

 

* * *

It’s mid sixties, but when she’s so used to the eighty, ninety degree days, it manages to send a shiver down her spine. Smoke fills her lungs, and with the sour stench of a nearby dumpster, the faint sound of the buzzing motel sign, it’s easy to close her eyes and believe she’s back in her pre-Buffy days. Wouldn’t that be nice? To be back in those days she could trust herself? Where she didn’t have to question every goddamn move she made? 

No. Now isn’t the time to start painting the Scoobies as the enemy, again. But maybe it is time to figure out what the hell is going on with her and B. Maybe she’s just desperate. Or, maybe...

_ ‘Deep down, you always wanted Buffy to accept you, to love you even.’ _

Yeah. That ‘little crush’ she encountered when they first met never really went away. But it’s not like she’s in love. Faith doesn’t do that shit. Even… even if it is, she knows this will never work out in her favor. She’s a killer, and Buffy will never forget that. 

Well. 

So is Angel. So was Spike.

She extinguishes the butt of her cigarette under her flip-flop. So, there. Proof. Buffy Summers could love a killer.

But could she love a girl? 


	5. A Complex Gal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> buffy talks bad habits, xander fucks tractors, and faith lehane may have accidentally admitted she's in love with the chosen one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting early bc i'll be out all day tomorrow (wednesday)!!!!! i got Really Gay while writing this chapter so that probably shows..... have fun, kiddos.  
> as usual, follow me on tumblr @bisexualbuffy and on twitter @buffylehanes for lots of fuffy headcanons and general screaming. kisses.

Faith wakes up to the sound of a running sink and muffled sobbing. It takes her a moment to read the clock through her blurred vision. Four thirty AM.

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to this. It’s not exactly easy, sleeping with Buffy. Rephrase: sleeping in the _same bed_ as Buffy. Girl’s a kicker, a blanket hog, a snorer. And those are just the expected things. There’s also the talking, screaming, and crying in her sleep.

She doesn’t mention those to her, though. Lets the girl keep her dignity. 

It’s not like she’s the only one.

This time is different, though. Her mind is still foggy, voice rough, and she doesn’t think before she calls out. “B? You okay in there?”

The crying stops, and Faith curses at herself. Should have just kept her mouth shut, dammit.

“Uh… yeah.” It’s hard to hear her whisper over the rumble of the air conditioner. “I’m gonna go to the gym, actually. I need to clear my head.” Buffy walks out into view, but it’s too dark to see much more than a silhouette. Faith hums in response. Too early for this. When she closes her eyes, she’s not sure if she dreams the press of her lips to her forehead. 

 

* * *

“Hey.” The next time she opens her eyes, sunlight is bleeding through the broken shades and Buffy’s voice is soft and warm. “We’re gonna get going, alright? Was on the phone with Giles, this morning, and apparently this is the town this creepy cowboy vamp I fought back in high school is from. Think that’s a good excuse as any to hit the road. Stop in Dallas, do some of the weird roadside attractions, and then keep driving through to Houston.” Buffy throws Faith a towel, and it’s absolutely her slayer reflexes kicking in to catch it, because she’s exhausted and distracted by just how…  _ Buffy  _ the girl looks today. So distracted, she hardly notices when B sits on the bed with her.

“I’m goin’...” she grumbles, stretching her arms. She’s gonna miss the little Chinese place, over here, and she’s sleepily mulling over how long she can get the hot water to last in the shower. But now, Buffy’s finger is tracing her collarbone, and she’s suddenly very, very awake. “Or not. This works.”

“You haven’t taken off the necklace.” She murmurs, and the air is static again, full of possibilities and Faith feels the distinct thump of her heart in her chest and  _ this could be it _ . And then she remembers she has morning breath and there’s sweat prickling her armpits and, you know what? No. It’s too early to be making life-altering decisions like whether or not to kiss Buffy Summers.

“Habit. Just because we’re out of the Hellmouth doesn’t mean we’re totally safe from vamps, B. I’m sure we’ll be seeing some, eventually. Gotta be prepared.” Faith takes Buffy’s hand away from her chest and laces their fingers together briefly. “‘Sides. Goes with any outfit.”

 

* * *

As prepared as Buffy seems to be with the maps and checking them out, Faith insists on driving. 

“Alright. Killer Bee capital of the world! Wait, no. That’s… out of the way, and probably not worth it. Probably down there with this next one: National Museum of Funeral History.  _ God _ , these Texans are such sticks in the mud.”

“Anything near Dallas?”

“Nope. I think this break is gonna be more of a ‘take a picture and a pee break’ stop, and then head straight into Houston. 

Texas is boring. It’s mind numbingly, painstakingly boring. Faith hates it, because Buffy’s on the phone with Willow, talking about a mix of Hellmouth-y shit and this little vacation, and trying to listen in feels uncomfortable, after a while. She’s alone with her thoughts, and fuck knows that’s not the best idea. She decides to distract herself momentarily with fishing for a cigarette, but it’s quite the task with the wind in her hair and her hands on the wheel. The second her hands reach for the lighter, Buffy smacks them. 

“Wil, I’ll call you back. Faith’s being… Faith.” She hangs up and picks the cigarette from Faith’s other hand. “This is a nasty habit, you know.”

“Yes, but do you?” She raises an eyebrow, paired with a coy smile. “Don’t try to play goody-two-shoes, Summers. A few of my cigs went missing these past few days. Why don’t you tell me what that’s about before you start raggin’ on my poor life decisions? Cause--” She laughs, “If we’re gonna go there, might as well really  _ go  _ there, y’know?”

Buffy holds the cigarette to Faith’s lips and begrudgingly lights it for her. In the silence, Faith grins. 

“Caught ya. Never took you for a smoker, though, B. If anything, I’d assume menthols.”

Buffy busies herself with looking at the map, and Faith turns up the radio. 

Another tractor-fucker song.

_ Goddammit _ .

 

* * *

They stop at a gas station in Dallas to stretch their legs and stock up on snacks. Faith buys two packs of Marlboros and feels Buffy’s eyes on her. 

“What? B, I’ll buy you a pack, if you want. It’s not a big deal.”

“No. I don’t smoke.”

“Then why the hell are you stealin’ my--”

“But Spike did.” Faith expects Buffy to look away, and is surprised when she meets her eye steadily. “I thought, maybe it would make me feel… closer, to him?” She seems to suppress  a smile. “But, honestly, they’re really gross. I don’t know how you two do it.”

“Looks like you just got a thing for baddies, B.” The clerk hands the packs over and she tucks them into her bag. Her palms are slick from what she’s implying. “I need to take a piss and I’ll be ready to head out. You buy your cookies and junk in the meantime.” 

Faith exits the gas station to find Buffy twirling a cigarette between her fingers, staring at it intently. 

“As cool as our slayer powers go, I don’t think ‘set fire with our eyes’ is on the list. But you’re right. Nasty habit. Don’t want to get you hooked.” Faith takes it from her and lights it herself. “Could end up killin’ ya.”

Buffy gives her a look, “And it won’t kill you? Aren’t you the one who chided me for tanning beds in fear of cancer? Hypocrite.”

Faith grins and shakes her head, exhaling smoke as she speaks. “What can I say, baby? I’m a complex gal.” She laughs as she gets in the car. It’s not like smoking’s her only vice. But with the absence of slaying, lately, it’s comforting to have death back at her fingertips.

 

* * *

Houston, Texas is humid and sweaty, with thighs sticking to the vinyl of diner’s booth seats.

“I’m going to gain, like, thirty pounds on this road trip.” Buffy purses her lips, then continues to indulge on a root beer float. Faith hums as her eyes roam to her own meal: some specialty burger, cheese fries, a BLT (extra on the bacon), and a chocolate malt. 

Eh. Being a slayer burns calories in itself, doesn’t it?

It’s a serene sort of quiet, the jukebox long defunct, and the radio on the counter has a slight static that makes her think of lazy twilights on the porch. Not that she’d ever experienced them herself. This is the freshest air she’s breathed in… god, it might be ever. Growing up in southern Boston didn’t lend itself to much else besides smoggy mornings and pollution so thick you’d bet the stars had choked and fallen away. Her thoughts are drowning in yesteryears and then Buffy’s foot brushes against hers and she’s brought back to the new millennium. 

“Where are you, right now?” Buffy looks at her, with her head tilted slightly and her fingers absently stirring her straw. 

“I was in Boston.” She licks her lips, salt and cheese and chocolate. She looks at Buffy, and she feels her eyes soften, her mouth twitch into a smile. “But I’m back here with you, blondie.”

It’s two AM when Buffy nudges Faith and comes up with an idea that has Faith thinking she’s both insane and possibly the girl of her dreams.

“Let’s park in a field and sleep under the stars. It’s not like we really need a room, tonight.” She stretches, “We save money, and can just shower at a Planet Fitness tomorrow.”

“As cheesy and rom-commy as that sounds, I think we might as well. Just wishin’ we had a few bottles of champagne to truly unlock the night’s full potential.” Buffy gives her a strange look, and Faith tries to backtrack as quickly as she can, “I mean, you know. No night is complete without a borderline-unhealthy dosage of alcohol.”

“I can agree to that. And I think in lieu of champagne, there’s a gas station around here, somewhere. I know you’re a fan of beer of the cheap variety.”

“Hey. I’m a fan of beer in  _ all  _ varieties, B. I don’t discriminate when it comes to getting drunk.”

They’re both actually too full for consumption of any kind, and the hope for beer has long escaped Faith’s mind as they find a secluded, quiet little field on the side of a backroad. When Faith pulls over and turns off the engine, Buffy makes a tiny noise of confusion at her jumping out of the car.

“Where are you going?”

She shakes her head at her as she hops up on the hood of the car, patting next to her. “You want to sleep under the stars, don’t you? Get your perky ass out here, B.”

They’re laying in a comfortable silence, crickets and fireflies painting one of the cheesiest, romantic situations Faith Lehane has ever been in. Her heart jumps as she hears Buffy take in a breath to speak.

“The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas.” She turns to Faith with a grin illuminated by lightning bugs that makes her chest hurt. Fuck.

“I vaguely know what you’re referencing, there, but I’m gonna ignore the cheese and admit the stars are nice.” She stretches, then lies back down on the windshield. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful.”

Faith’s looking at Buffy, and Buffy’s looking at the stars.

The silence falls over them like quiet, blanketing snow, to the point where Buffy’s breathing is beginning to even out, and Faith speaks up in fear of the night ending too soon. She tells her her opinion on the state’s overwhelming abundance of country music. She even throws in the term ‘tractor fucker’ in hopes of hearing that cute little snort. It works.

“Oh my god, I’m never going to think of country music the same way again. Xander has a thing for country music. I’m gonna tell him you called him a tractor…  _ tractor fucker _ .” She laughs again, and Faith grins along. Buffy looks at her, face flushed and eyes bright, tongue peeking between her teeth, and it feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest.

“Do you remember what I said?” Faith’s mouth is suddenly dry, and her lungs are heavier and her chest is tight. Fuck. Why is she doing this? Stop. “About how we weren’t supposed to exist together?”

Buffy’s smile fades until it’s replaced with a gentle confusion. “Yeah. Why?”

“We weren’t.” Voice roughened with embarrassment, Faith’s hand is trembling as she brushes hair out of Buffy’s face. “At least, not before. I think… I think if the timing had been different, if we had both been ready…-- In another dimension, I guess. Some alternate universe. Hell,  _ any  _ other universe. This one just...” She wants to tell herself to shut up, possibly run off into the field and vomit her entire dinner, but Buffy Summers is looking at her expectantly and the words just keep falling out. “This one just fought back. If it hadn’t, y’know, snubbed out our chance…” Her throat is thick and she hopes to god Buffy can’t see her shaking. “I think we could have been incredible.”

Buffy’s eyes have hardened in her confusion, and after a few moments, she looks away, back to the stars. Faith is pretty positive she’s about to hurl, but Buffy shatters the silence with a few quiet words.

“I think you and I, of all people, are deserving of a second chance.”


	6. Peachy Residue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy's fang kink is long over, Faith has a realization, and both slayers have a heat of the moment... moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright. this chapter is unbeta'd (as per usual) and kinda rushed. thank you all for the great feedback so far!! your reviews and kudos mean the world to me.   
> drop me a line @bisexualbuffy on tumblr and @buffylehanes on twitter. love u cuties.

The same diner that felt like something of an altered reality the night before is now filled to the brim with locals, pronounced southern tangs drawling on in a murmured bustle. Buffy’s hair is mused to the point of no saving it, frizzy and greasy, and Faith is thinking this knowing she’s probably looking ten times worse. There’s not much conversation, as Faith’s tongue is sour with morning breath and her throat is tight with embarrassment of what she-- in not so many words-- admitted last night. Without alcohol to blame, her stomach is aching and a thickening headache is forming in the middle of her forehead. Buffy’s unnaturally quiet, eyes vacant as she chews her french toast. The silence drags on for too long and it gets to the point where her gut is twisting so violently that she has to break it.

“B, about last--”

“Faith, shut up.” Buffy looks at her with a stoic glare that just screams ‘ _ slayer’ _ and Faith grits her teeth. She’s about to let the girl have it. Did Faith make a fool of herself last night? Yes. But that gives her no goddamn  _ right  _ to brush her off like this. It’s only when Buffy jerks her head in a nod to a few tables over that she understands what’s happening. 

_ “Another one dead? That’s the third this week! It’s sickening, drained a’ blood. Must be some cult activity. Gives me the willies.” _

Faith’s heart rate picks up and she can’t help the rush of adrenaline throughout her veins. Finally. Oh, _ fuck. _ She’s grinning. That’s wildly inappropriate.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Buffy finally says as the two patrons leave, their conversation having left Faith with some sort of high.

“Fuck yeah. I mean, of course of all places, it had to be fucking  _ Texas _ , but at least we’re back at it, yeah?” 

Buffy looks at her with some sort of unreadable, blank look. “Aren’t you the one who wanted us to focus on being normal?”

Well… yeah. She has a point. “That was before we started trying to stake things in our sleep, B. Least in prison, there was a decent degree of violence. The only real violence we’ve gotten our hands on lately is either against each other, or our wallets.”

The blonde stares down at her plate, at the piece of toast that’s going cold. Faith is tempted to take it, and she’s about to, but then the girl starts talking again and it interrupts her train of thought. “It’s not for the fighting, it’s just before it’s our duty--”

Faith huffs in interruption, deciding to take the toast off her plate and shove it in her mouth, “Oh, cut the bullshit, B! It’s not big deal to miss it. It’s not wrong, it’s just who you are. Who  _ we  _ are.” The french toast is dry and she feels it sliding down her throat like sandpaper. “So stop with the angsty inner turmoil and admit you enjoy kickin’ ass.”

“You’re right.” She nods, and Faith has the strangest feeling of deja vu. They’ve had this conversation before. “God. You’re right.  _ Hell _ , do I miss slaying.”

“There’s the slayer I know and love.” Faith grins, “Stop mopin’ and get psyched! We get to break out the stakes again. Get all hot ‘n sweaty. Finally have an excuse to be eating so much junk.”

They have to drive around for a bit to find a place secluded enough to start unpacking weapons. Faith knows they, in theory, could just park in that field from the night before, but she’s not too keen on the whole  _ ‘oh, hey, isn’t this the field where you pretty much told me you love me? What was that about, anyways? _ ’. Faith Lehane: slayer of vampires and uncomfortable situations alike.

They’re counting crosses and whittling at dulled stakes and there’s a shine to Buffy’s eyes she hasn’t seen in a long, long time. Buffy excuses herself eventually and walks off to call Willow, and with the spotty-at-best cell service out here, that’s true determination. She continues whittling stakes and tries her best not to listen in for mentions of her name. The mentions don’t seem to come. Whatever.

The sun is low in the sky when they leave the gym, freshly showered and teeth brushed. Buffy’s hair is still stuck together in dripping locks, her skin still a bit raw and red from scrubbing. Her green eyes had surveyed Faith as she also stepped out of the shower stall, covered with a flimsy, ratty pink towel. Faith was hoping she could blame her rising blush on the scalding hot water she’d just doused herself in, but then Buffy laughed and had traced the silver of the cross on Faith’s upper chest. “Still haven’t taken it off. Afraid a vamp’s gonna try to hop in the shower with you for some fun?”

“Hey, I’m not the one with the fang kink, B.” After the words slipped from her tongue, she realized she may have overstepped some boundary. It’d mostly been zero talk of ex-boyfriends, and for good reason. She watched Buffy carefully, noticed the sudden tension in her upper shoulders, but she masked her pain otherwise. 

“God, don’t even. Guys in general are going to be off my radar for the next century, thanks.”

Faith noticed the wording. Her heart swelled. 

But now they’re loading up in the car and heading over to the cemetery, and lightning bugs are starting to appear every couple of minutes. The radio is fuzzy, and Faith feels her lips moving along silently to a ballad they’d heard here at least twenty times by now. She catches herself smiling.

Sunset. Bout to slay some vamps. Buffy’s hair is air drying, giving her messy waves and her hand is resting on Faith’s on the gearshift. Stake in her right hand, bottled holy water in her bag. Buffy’s eyes are shining in the fading sunlight when she looks at her, and then scrambles to look back at the road.

It hits her with a wave of emotion punching straight through her chest and seeping into her ribs, her arms, her belly. She’s in love.

Oh  _ fuck _ no.

 

* * *

Vampires always proved to be great distractions in the past. PMS? Kick some vamp ass to clear her head. Mother’s Day? Stake some vamps to banish the memories of the ever-coked up Tina Lehane. Falling in love with the only person she really has in this world? 

_ Well, _ she thinks as she kicks some bloodsucker so hard she hears its jaw crack, _ vampires really do come in handy _ . 

She hears Buffy grunting, throwing punches, about ten feet away, and that girl has to be having the time of her life. Meanwhile, she’s facing two at once, now, with god awful cowboy outfits and  _ thank god _ that shit dusts with the bodies. She cracks their heads against each other and grins, pinning one to the ground and staking it in it’s disoriented state. Electricity shoots throughout her body, every nerve ending, and this is the most alive she’s felt in far too fucking long.

The second vamp is regaining its bearings and is soon back at it with attempted bites and scratches. Faith feels her skin, possibly muscle, tear and cries out in pain, swinging her fists harder, and just as it kicks her down, Buffy stakes the fucker from behind. Her blood is pumping, hard, fast, and when Buffy holds her hand out to help her up, she’s almost too focused on the sparks that shock her when their hands clasp than to notice-- fucking hell, she must be dreaming-- what Buffy Summers does next.

Their hands are still clasped as Buffy pulls her in and crushes their lips together with enough force that they bump teeth. She tastes like the peach lip balm she uses religiously, and when her tongue swipes across Faith’s lower lip, she tastes like blood. Faith is frozen only a fraction of a second, because if this is a dream, it’s a damn good one and she’s not going to waste it. She drops her stake and buries the hand in Buffy’s hair to keep her closer. She’s engulfed in flames-- nothing feels real but she’s never felt more grounded and present and  _ loved _ .

Even slayers have to breathe, so the kiss that feels like a lifetime ends and Faith is left searching those emerald eyes for answers to what the hell just happened. All she finds is confusion and surprise and what she  _ hopes  _ isn’t regret.

Faith licks her lips and gives a shaky grin. “Well… we got that out of the way.”

Buffy’s visibly spacing, her gaze seemingly beyond Faith and off into the graveyard. “We should… should get a room. Your arm-- oh, god, your arm is looking… bad.”

Oh… fuck. She’s right. Even with the accelerated healing, it probably needs to be bandaged. It hurts like shit, and she should care more, but now she has the peachy residue on her mouth and that’s all she can focus on. 

“I’ll be fine, B. Always am.” She reaches down and with a hiss of pain to retrieve her stake, and after nearly thirty seconds of inner debate, takes Buffy’s hand. And, although the hand is limp and cool in her own, she doesn’t pull away as they walk back to the car. That’s a good sign, right?

Right?

 

* * *

The motel they find is even shittier than the last, with moth eaten curtains and one tiny bed so stained and rickety Faith’s honestly thinking of just sleeping on the floor.

Or, outside. Which is where she is now, standing outside the doorway with cigarette after shaky cigarette cloaking her lungs in smoke. Buffy’s barely looking her in the eye, which is bullshit, because Buffy’s the one who kissed her. Hell, she even asked for two separate beds at check-in and looked disappointed to hear they didn’t have any double rooms left. Whatever.

She’s got a bit of a burn on the side of her index finger from a slip-up with the lighter, and it hurts, but it distracts from her arm which isn’t seeming to heal up all that quick. Distracts from the ache in her chest that presses down on her lungs hard enough to suffocate, if she isn’t careful. 

The door opens slightly, and she feels Buffy’s presence (because, god, goosebumps rise every time she’s within two feet) but doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“I have the bandages and, uh… just come back in, when you’re done.”

The cigarette in between her fingers burned to the filter. She had no excuse.

The bed is hard to the point where it hurts her tailbone. Buffy’s sitting on her left side, trying to clean the gash. It stings like a bitch but Buffy’s touching her skin and that’s got to be a sign that she doesn’t completely fucking hate her, so that’s what she stays focused on. 

“Faith, about… before, I--”

“You’re not a queer. I get it.” Faith bites back, staring at the dingy little tv in front of them. Buffy’s grip on her arm tightens slightly.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” She says through her teeth, and begins to wrap the bandage tight. “I just… meant that, well, it was the heat of the moment.”

“Yeah. Heat of the moment. You didn’t think. You were confused. You’re not a dyke and I shouldn’t get any ideas and we should just put this whole thing behind us--”

“You’re putting words into my mouth, again, Faith.” The grip is painful, now, probably bruising. In a sick way, she likes it. “All I said was it was the heat of the moment.”

B’s not making any damn sense, and Faith suddenly feels like she has a mouth full of cotton, so she shuts up. Buffy doesn’t say another word on the subject, so neither does Faith.

 

* * *

That night, after Faith tosses and turns on the bed from Hell, she reaches for Buffy’s hand under the covers in a moment of desperation. 

Buffy, with the same sense of urgency and longing, takes it.


	7. Friends of Sappho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> faith gets a phone call, buffy's got some serious abandonment issues, and another scooby joins the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's just pretend i didn't neglect posting for over two weeks... oops. 
> 
> hugs, kisses, and sexual favors to all of you still reading this. i lov u all. 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @bisexualbuffy and on twitter @buffylehanes for lots of fuffy rambles and shenanigans.

Faith, for the first time on this whole mess of a road trip, wakes up first. Buffy’s curled into her, warm and soft. Her fingers hesitantly go to run through her hair, and when her arm moves, the shooting pain is a clear indicator that last night actually happened. 

Well, fuck.

Take stock, Lehane. Buffy’s still here. Hasn’t bolted. Hell, she’s closer to you than ever before, and Jesus Christ, you kind of want to wake up like this every day for the rest of your life. Ix-nay on the torn muscle, though. That can fuck right off.

Faith starts slightly when Buffy’s phone starts buzzing on the bedside table, and in an effort to let Buffy sleep in, she maneuvers her arm (the one under Buffy’s head) awkwardly and grabs it. 

She hardly gets out a hello when Willow explodes on the other line.

“Buffy Anne Summers, you budding lesbian, you can’t just send me a measly text and expect me to be satisfied! I need all the juicy details! Faith’s lips always looked soft-- are they soft? Don’t hold out on me.”

She chokes out a quiet laugh, untangling herself from Buffy and immediately longing for her warmth again. God… even in her mind, that sounds so fucking gay.

She pads over to the door and stands outside the room, grinning to herself. “Well, red, never knew you had a thing for me. For the record-- I got me some lips like pillows. A great experience, overall, or so they tell me.”

The silence is so intense it’s like she can  _ hear  _ the blood rushing to Willow’s cheeks. She barely manages a squeak. “F-Faith?”

“Don’t sweat it, kid. B’s sleeping in and that hasn’t been the case in a while, so I thought I’d let her rest up. I’m assuming she told you about patrolling, last night. Do we have any baby slayers located around Houston? I think we got rid of the bulk of the vamp population, but just in case-- we need some girls equipped to handle the sitch. B and I are moving on. I’m thinkin’ we head to New Orleans, bet there’s some real kickin’ action on the slayin’ front, y’think? Not just the vampires, hear stories a’ all sorts of things. Bonus: I’m a big fan ‘a spicy foods.”

“I’ll check with Giles and see if we’ve gotten word from anyone in the area.” Faith can hear her furiously typing away at a keyboard.  It abruptly stops. “Alright. We have a location on four girls in Houston. I’ll get in contact with them. By the way-- Faith?”

“Mmm?”

“I know you’re all intimidating with the whole wanted fugitive/killer thing going on, so it’s easier to say this over the phone, but. Buffy’s my best friend. I love her. And the last time she and someone I loved got hurt, I had the power to end the world. I skinned someone alive.” Her voice is wobbly but hardened, “Buffy just lost her boyfriend, y’know? And I’m glad she seems to be doing better at coping with it on your little ‘Chosen Two’ vacation. But she can’t take another heartbreak; none of us can. So, you make think I’m being all protective best friend right now, but if you do hurt her, know that I can and will hurt you a whole lot worse.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Faith’s fingers are buzzing slightly with anxiety. 

“Anyways, that’s over with-- phew. Have fun in New Orleans! Sorry for gettin’ all threatening, but one must usually to that when they intend to threaten.”

“No….prob, red. Ain’t nothin’s gonna happen with B. We were just caught up in the groove a’ slayin’, last night. I’m sure she’ll find some sweet talker in Louisiana and I’ll be finding a sock on the motel room door.” She doesn’t believe what she’s saying, but it’s better to act like she doesn’t have her hopes up. 

“...okay, then. Tell Buffy to call me when she has the chance. Drive safe. And… Faith?”

“What is it now, red?”

“I… if you want to, uh. Talk. I’m here. Always here for my fellow friends of Sappho.”

“Cute.” Faith pinches the bridge of her nose, as a headache begins to form, “And, uh… thanks, or whatever, I guess. I’m not really the sharin’ sort, though.”

“Understandable. Talk to you soon.”

“Mmm.” She hangs up without another word, peeking back into the room. Buffy’s still in the dead of sleep, and she weighs her options. Faith  _ could  _ crawl back into bed. Pros: Buffy is warm and isn’t kicking in her sleep, at the moment. Falling back asleep with Buffy pressed up against her sounds pretty damn good. Cons: She could wake her up, leaving them to have to have a real conversation about things she’d rather not confront. Also? If Buffy laid on her arm again, she might just fuckin’ amputate it. 

It’s clear to what her decision is, and soon she’s throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing her purse and closing the door carefully. 

 

* * *

You actually get a lot done when you’re running from your problems. Really, Faith Lehane would know. She considers herself an Olympic athlete at this shit. Gassed up the car, got the oil checked, withdrew a wad of cash from an account that’s not completely clean. Bought sandwiches for the road, more bandages and alcohol (both the medical and drinking kind, of course). Even a new shirt, the Wal-Mart variety, because that undead bastard tore hers last night. She feels useful. Productive. It’s nice. She feels good.

Until she comes back the motel and immediately has a shoe thrown at her head.

“What the  _ hell _ , Faith!” Buffy spits through her teeth, “I thought you-- you skipped out, or something!”

“Chill out, B. I went shopping. Got the car checked. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“I thought you left.”

“B… all my shit’s still here. Why would I have left my phone charger?”

She makes this miffed, angry pout and Faith grins, continuing, “Well, I’m happy to know you like having me around, but start packing. We have to be outta this shithole by eleven.”

“We’re leaving?” Buffy’s sitting crisscross on the bed, “There could still be vampires, here, Faith. We can’t leave yet.”

“All taken care of. Willow’s organizing something with the newly activated Slayers around these parts. We’re all clear to move on.”

A beat. Then. “When did you talk to Willow?”

“This morning. She called while you were sleeping. She asked for you to call when you have time.” Faith doesn’t meet her eye, packing the few things she’d taken out of her bag. This conversation could get messy and she’s honestly not in the right headspace for that now.

“...oh. Okay, then.” Buffy gets up, pulls a sundress out of her bag, then heads over to the bathroom. “Did--... did Willow say anything?”

“Well, when one’s on the phone, that’s usually standard protocol.”

Buffy’s mouth hangs open slightly, as if she’s testing out something to say, but after a few moments, it closes. As does the bathroom door.

 

* * *

Driving with Buffy through the rest of Texas is something she had been dreading, but it’s… strangely normal. No mention of the other night, but Buffy’s pointing out every strange thing on the side of highway. A soda can the size of a house. A large cow sculpture with peeling utters and creepy eyes. Countless billboards asking ‘ARE YOU GOING TO HEAVEN OR HELL?’

Buffy tries to joke, but Faith doesn’t like those. They make her anxious. At least Buffy knows the answer to that question.

It’s a long fuckin’ drive, Seven hours. Buffy drives for two of them, as Faith drifts in and out of consciousness, but the sun is too hot through the windshield and the air conditioning’s been actin’ a little screwy. She can’t stay asleep. ‘Sides, without the distraction of the road, she’s probably headin’ towards insanity. 

“You wanna play a car ride game?” Buffy asks, having given up fiddling with the radio in hopes to find anything but pure static. “Dawnie and I used to play license plate bingo when we’d ride up to our dad’s house for the summer. You gotta find a license plate for every state. Dawn swears she saw a Hawaii one once, but she was eight and extremely competitive.”

“B, cute and nostalgic as that sounds, we’ve been the only car on the road for the last forty five minutes.”

“...oh.” Her cheeks puff. “You’re right. I’m out of ideas. I have some mixes we haven’t listened to since Vegas. Let’s do that.”

By the time Faith spots a sign welcoming them to New Orleans, the sun is teetering on the edge of the horizon and Buffy’s snoring lightly against the window. Her stomach is rumbling and she’s been holding her bladder for the past two hours. Willow had called her (on Faith’s cell, this time) and offered to make them a reservation somewhere so they didn’t have to drive around aimlessly, which she readily agreed to. Hell, long as she doesn’t have to drop another sixty bucks on some shithole, she’s all fine and dandy.

When she pulls up to the address Willow had given her, it’s… definitely not a sixty dollar shithole. Le Pavillon is the kinda place Faith would’ve been paid to break into, in another life. Everything about it is grand, from the great height to the towering pillars in front. She checks the address multiple times, glancing back and forth, but there’s no possible mistaking it. This is the place.

She doesn’t know whether to kick Rosenberg’s ass, or kiss it.

The original plan was to let Buffy sleep in the car whilst she checked them in, but because this place has fuckin’ valet parking, she has no choice in the matter.

“B. Wake up. We’re here.”

Buffy grumbles, muttering a sleepy ‘I gotta pee…’, opening bleary eyes after a few long moments. “Are… are you serious? Or am I dreaming?”

“Willow made the reservation. Looks like red came into some money, somehow.”

Buffy just nods dumbly as she gets out of the car, and Faith is too embarrassed to check what she looks like in the rearview mirror before getting out. Certainly not like the kind of person who should be staying at a real swanky dig like this. And she’s thinkin’ this even before she walks inside, before she sees that big ol’ grand staircase in the lobby, the ornate decorations. This ain’t no place for an escaped fugitive. 

“Oh my god… this looks like a movie set. I’m fully expecting to see Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet walk down that staircase. This has to be a mistake-- Wil had to of pulled some magical strings to get us a room here.”

They check-in at the counter with a girl who gives them a strange smile, hands them a room key, and announces that their bags will be delivered to their room as quickly as possible.

The elevator is fancy. The halls are fancy. The room is… well, shit. And she thought  _ Vegas  _ was fancy.

“There’s a fireplace in our room. Why is there a fireplace in our room? Or am I still dreaming?”

Faith’s eyes can’t seem to settle on just one detail, from the high ceilings to the plush bed to the goddamn  _ champagne bottle _ in ice on the side table.

Well played, Rosenberg. Wing-mannin’ it from two thousand miles away. 

The phone rings, and this time, Buffy talks to Willow, excusing herself to the bathroom for some privacy. Faith could listen in easily, but at the moment, she feels sticky and sweaty and a bit lightheaded. She takes a peek at the room service menu while the bellhops deliver their bags. Twenty four hour service. Shit. Wil really pulled out all the stops.

“Hey B, I’m ordering room service. What’re you in the mood for?” She eyes the champagne, weighing her options idly as whether or not to open it now.

“One sec!” She calls, and it’s only now she notices that she and Wil are clearly arguing on the phone, by the tone of her voice. A few more minutes of bickering leads to a defeated  _ ‘Okay. Talk to you soon.’ _ She emerges from the bathroom with tired eyes, head tilted slightly. “We have the room for two nights. Wil assures me this is all magicks-free, but I’m not so sure. However, she says the pool is to die for, so I’m gonna focus more on that and head up. You gonna come with?”

Faith bites her lip. “Uh… yeah. In a bit. I’m gonna eat somethin’ real fast and get changed. Meet you up there in twenty minutes?”

When Buffy leaves, Faith’s left alone, laying spread out on the bed. Her thoughts are static, and she’s probably going to fall asleep before she can convince herself to move her heavy limbs to the mini fridge. 

Her phone buzzes. Willow. Faith can’t help the stupid smile on her lips as she forces herself up gets her bikini on, careful not to mess with her bad arm too much. Healing up nicely, though. Should be able to get in the water without a problem, save some stares at the nasty scar. Don’t matter, though. Chicks dig scars. She looks back at the message while she brushes out her hair and rubs off the smudged eyeliner on her lower lids. She almost smiles.

_ ‘Go get her, tiger.’ _


	8. Act of Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy deals with forgiveness, Faith deals with nightmares, and neither of them are kids, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen my dudes i know it's been like.. two months or something crazy. i'm So Sorry. i just moved in and finished my first week of classes at college!!! it's all very nerve wracking and stressful and time consuming, but i missed my favorite vampire slaying gfs.
> 
> this chapter turned out waaaay more serious than originally planned, but i think it was needed.  
> shout out to cori for kickin' my butt to finish and post this. comments make me thrive. kudos make my heart soar. thanks for sticking around this long <3  
> as usual: bisexualbuffy on tumblr, buffylehanes on twitter. i love you.

The sky is a low purplish haze by the time Faith makes it up to the pool, ignoring the double takes by guests and staff alike in the halls at her arm. Ain’t even that bad, anymore. Just some blueish grey bruising and a bit a’ scabbing along the wound. Once the sun comes up, in loose terms, she’d be good as new. 

Her tongue is still bitter with the taste of the black instant-coffee she’d gulped down about five minutes prior, and it’s kinda got her worrying about how her breath must smell bad, but Buffy hasn’t brushed her teeth since this morning, so that probably evens the playing field. Besides, if she were to kiss Buffy tonight, it couldn’t be anywhere so public. Faith ain’t an idiot, knows she can’t be so outright in front a’ people, ‘specially down south. Buffy’s never been berated for her sexuality, for sure, but Faith knows it all too well. At thirteen, holdin’ Bianca Habrel’s hand in the hallway at St. Mary’s was the pinnacle of rebellion, and she’d loved it. Loved it, until the nuns informed her she was facing eternal damnation. Until Bianca’s parents pulled her out and moved far, far away. Until the students and staff alike uttered her name with such disgust it made her ill. 

The past is the past, and Faith Lehane is loud and proud about her love for ladies, but the nuns in her head will never truly go away. Every slur, every dirty look she ever received haunts her.

She can’t do that to B.

Willow wasn’t exaggerating: the pool is illuminated, the city lit before them. Her chest tightens slightly, like she’s having trouble accepting this is real, she’s really here, and she’s not just gonna wake in her cot in a musty jumpsuit. The thought still shakes her. 

“Was starting to think you fell asleep.” Buffy says as Faith approaches where the woman’s sitting on the edge. She smiles, and Faith Lehane must be in some girly teen flick, ‘cause when the breeze just slightly blows B’s hair in her face she looks fuckin’ angelic. 

“Very tempting, but instant coffee and the promise of a bitchin’ pool convinced me otherwise.” Faith looks down at her, not choosing to sit just yet. “Why aren’t you in the water?”

“Waiting for you.”

Faith grins, fully aware her teeth are coffee-stained, and gives no warning before she cannonballs in. 

She emerges to a soaked Buffy Summers, who can’t seem to decide whether to fume or burst into laughter. “You’re an  _ asshole _ .” And there’s that laughter, that sound that makes a gal’s heart beat faster and her palms slicker.

“Been called worse. Now get that perky ass of yours in the water.”

“Why don’t you make me?” Oh  _ hell,  _ Summers. 

“You sure about that?” She taunts back, wading towards her, close enough to rest her palms on the top of Buffy’s thighs. The electricity, the feeling of this girl in her fucking veins must be the Slayer connection, because she’s never  _ felt  _ so much with anyone else in her life. Before she knows it, Buffy’s eyes are darting to her mouth as she leans down. Faith, god, she can’t fucking believe herself, becomes hyperaware of how many other people are at the pool with them. Grandparents, business types, families-- not so far away. This can’t happen here. At least, not now. Faith makes a decision. Buffy’s eyes have already slid shut.

She grabs her ankle and  _ yanks _ .

Buffy’s squeal of surprise can almost makes missing the kiss worth it.

Nah. She can’t even begin to try convincing herself of that.

 

 

* * *

Champagne. Room service. Buffy Summers. 

Three of Faith Lehane’s favorite things. 

This is surreal, like, honest to god, because she’s sitting in plush robe, hair beginning to dry into waves, with a tipsy Chosen One next to her in this crazy fancy hotel room. Buffy’s laughing about something, something that probably ain’t even all that funny, but Faith laughs along. The tips of her fingers are sticky from the chocolate strawberries she’d insisted on ordering, and they’re playing along Faith’s arm in a way that raises an embarrassing amount of goosebumps. 

“Tomorrow, I say we get up early and hit up some hot spots for demonic activity. Oh, and shopping. I hear New Orleans has the cutest little shopping district.”

“Mmm. Alright. Slaying and shopping.” Faith smiles lazily, sipping the rest of her champagne, “You’re a real card, Summers.”

“What can I say?” She bits her lip, a cocky playfulness in her eyes, “I’m a complex gal.”

__

* * *

A Slayer’s nightmares should consist of the monsters she defeats, the demons who’ve nearly killed her.

Not the faces of the people who raised her. 

_ Running, running, running, except her legs are short and rail thin and her poorly cut bangs are screwin’ with her vision. Mother’s voice, slurring curses. Daddy breaking the beer bottle in a fit of rage and swinging at her. Grandfather’s belt on the high shelf of the study. _

_ Her foster mom throwing her things into a trash bag, thrusting it into her arms and sending her away with the lady from social services. Benny, the dog she’d fallen in love with, who tried to follow the car as long as he could. Watching him disappear in the rear view mirror.  _

_ Running, running, except now her legs aren’t working, they’re breaking, they’re melting and now everything’s catching up with her. Benny’s dead and her mom’s dead and grandfather is dead and Daddy’s beer bottle shatters on the ground and everyone is gone and no amount of screaming is going to bring them back. _

“ _ Faith! _ ” She awakes with a jolt, hair dampened with sweat. Buffy’s hands are cool on her shoulders. “ _ Faith _ . Hey, it was a nightmare.” Her voice is raspy and gentle, and it’s something she can focus on to dispel the gut-wrenching memories that nightmare dredged up. It’s dark, too dark, so she can’t exactly make Buffy’s features out, but her hair is tickling her cheek and before she can stop herself, she flings her arms around her. Probably looks fuckin’ desperate, but Buffy’s lips are in her hair pressing slow kisses and Faith’s breath is beginning to even out. B’s hands are strokin’ her hair, and the adrenaline pumping through her veins is making her dizzy, “Just a nightmare.”

Before she can stop her, B’s turned on the bedside lamp and Faith covers her wet eyes in humiliation. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m sorry--”

“Faith.” Her thumb runs over her cheek and  _ hell  _ does it make her breathing stutter. B’s voice is all soft and timid and it’s got Faith Lehane wonderin’ what on Earth she did to deserve kindness like this, “Was it prison?”

“No, no, it was… nothing. I don’t even remember, now.” It’s so obviously a lie, and she expects B to press like she always does, but this time, she just nods. 

It’s quiet for a good thirty seconds; Faith feels her heart slowing to a steady pace when Buffy speaks again. “You’re safe, you know.” 

Faith swallows, trying to run her fingers through her tangled hair, “Yeah. Yeah, I know. The First is gone. Prison’s in the past.” Her voice breaks, “Mom’s dead.” 

Buffy’s hands are on her shoulders, now, “Hey. I mean it. You’re safe.”

“It’s just… hard to remember sometimes, ya know? Every time I wake up, I can’t open my eyes right away, just in case this was all just a dream. Angel, LA, Sunnydale.” Her throat is thick and wet, “You.”

“Me?”

“ _ You. _ This… this thing. Because, hell, Buffy, you should hate me. I-- fuck,  _ I _ hate me. I tried to kill you, B. I tried to frame you for murder, I-- I stole your  _ body! _ I’m just… just waiting for you to remember all this shit, to be disgusted by me, because  _ I  _ am, and you can’t forgive me.” 

Buffy sits there, pulling away slightly, and this is it. The words hang heavily between them. She’s going to leave. Fuck, Lehane,  _ why  _ did you go and remind her? Sabotaging every good thing that comes your way, as usual. “Who says I can’t?”

“I don’t deserve it, B. You know damn well I don’t.”

“Forgiveness isn’t given because someone deserves it.” She mumbles, squeezing her shoulder, “It’s an act of compassion.”

“What, you a walkin’ self-help book now?” Faith bites back, and she can’t help herself even if she  _ knows  _ she should shut up. But, this was always gonna happen, right? B was bound to wake up from this little domestic stint they tried to kid themselves with. Why not just get it over with? “I don’t get you, Summers. You always saw this shit as black and white-- what’s changed? I’m a killer, B. A  _ killer _ . Now we can play make believe all we want, but at the end of the day, we can’t pretend it ain’t true.”

It’s quiet, and when Faith calms down enough to notice, the only sounds that meet her ears are the low thrum of the ceiling fan and their slow, shallow breathing. B’s hand reaches for her own, after a few moments, and she laces their fingers together. Their eyes meet. “We’re not kids, anymore, Faith. We’ve all got blood on our hands.”

She lets out a laugh, a breathy chuckle without a trace of humor. Squeezes Buffy’s hand, not as soft as it had been back then, back in highschool, back in Sunnydale. Lays back down on the pillow and drapes her free arm over her eyes. “It haunts me, B.” Faith’s whisper is broken, fuckin’ pathetic, “I can’t close my eyes. I see their faces, so many  _ faces-- _ ”

“Open your eyes, then.”

She moves her arm, and Buffy Summers is right there on the pillow with her, so close her breathe is just about ticklin’ her lips. Faith wants to say something, wracks her brain desperately for some sort of sly remark to get them back to their usual game of emotional cat and mouse. Her mouth is dry. She licks her lips, parts them. No sound comes out.

“I see them, too.” She says slowly, “The potentials that were killed in the weeks before the battle. Every girl that died at my side that night. Anya. Tara. Spike. Sometimes even Ted.” 

Faith has no idea who that last one is, maybe that guy with the golf that B never really elaborated on, but she don’t comment on that. Instead, “None a’ those were your fault, B. You didn’t kill anyone; not like me.”

“Didn’t I, though?” She takes a shaky breath, “They died because of me. For me. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t strangle them with my own two hands. That’s not the way this works,” Her eyes slip closed, brow furrows. “But as awful as that night was, as many girls as we lost that night… without you, I don’t even think  _ I’d _ still be here.”

“I tried to  _ kill  _ you--”

“Years ago. High school. Hell,  _ I _ wanted to kill everyone in high school. …that was a joke.”

“Very funny. Really lightened the mood.”

Buffy lets go off Faith’s hand, and she kinda misses the warmth until those fingers (rougher than high school, than Sunnydale, than even memories of graveyards and splinters from stakes digging into her palms) touch her face, trace her jawline. The tips of her own fingers tingle.

Her breath is caught in her throat, “What’re we doin’, B?”

She deflects the question with ease, “You were right, though. Prison’s done with. Sunnydale’s gone. Your mom’s dead. So’s the First. It’s hard to convince myself of that last one, sometimes.”

Her throat’s thick, and she forms a small grunt in agreement. It’s back to silence. Buffy turns off the lamp, and darkness consumes the room, save for a crack of moonlight peering through the curtains. Words are begging to fall from Faith’s tongue. Her breath hitches as she speaks, “Back in the joint, I would get stuck in my head for hours. Thinkin’ of every mistake I ever made. Every person I hurt. It’s hard not to get lost in there, again.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, anymore.” Buffy whispers, voice small and tremulous, “I’ll always be here to find you.”


End file.
